


Kylo Ren And The Cereal Wars

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [33]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo wants breakfast</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kylo Ren And The Cereal Wars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/gifts), [Themes_of_November](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themes_of_November/gifts), [MidgardianNerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidgardianNerd/gifts).



Normally things arrive. Kylo isn’t sure how, but they do. It could be the Force, or it could be that Poe either orders things for delivery, or sends a droid to pick them up. Kylo has never thought about the sudden appearance of fresh rolls of toilet paper in his life until this moment. They just sort of appear.

(The old ones also disappear. He balances the new one on top of the holder, and the next time - or the time after - the old inner roll is gone and the new one is in its place, as if by magic.)

Kylo Ren is not very domesticated.

So when he opens the cupboard and his cereal isn’t there, and it’s breakfast, he’s confused. He arches up on the balls of his feet to see if it’s behind the pasta, or something else… but no.

He finished the last box, he remembers. Usually the new box is there before the old one is empty, but he didn’t think about it until _now_ when he _has no cereal_. 

And then it dawns on him.

 _Things are missing_. He pulls open doors and bins and cupboards and drawers and makes an inventory of things that are not here: the _cereal_ , for one. Milk is low, there’s only toast-crumbed butter and there’s only two kinds of fruit juice in and there’s barely any vegetables.

He _can_ cook. Sort of. Ish. If he has to. Most of the things he cooks involve the same few steps (which he usually adulterates anyway), and he knows how not to poison them, but Poe is the one with the real talent. He still knows enough to know this is a lot less than they’d normally have.

Poe is on the couch. He’s asleep, having come home from a long jag of cockpit hours to insist he wasn’t tired and then snore through their favourite show. Kylo knows better than to move him when he snores in a certain timbre, just tuck blankets around him and take the other couch. But Poe is still asleep, and Kylo wants cereal, and Kylo doesn’t want to wake Poe up. 

So.

He has to work out how to get groceries for himself.

How hard can it be?

***

Food selling shop thing markets are Sith-Jedi-Whatever Training Grounds, Kylo is sure. No sooner does he arrive than his eyes are accosted by lights in a section of the spectrum normally reserved for the moments before you pass out from concussion. There’s tinny, sanitised, _squeaking_ cantina-lite muzak, and there’s flashing adverts for everything from caf that makes you feel like a podracer, to toothpaste that makes your teeth chew through duracrete, and something that does something inexplicable (but apparently vitally important) to your boots. Whatever it is, he can’t live without it, say the adverts. He’s survived this far.

People talk to him, and Kylo pretends he only speaks in an obscure dialect they’ll need a protocol droid for (Threepio had his uses) and grabs a trolley. 

This is **war**.

***

Poe calls him ten years later. It feels like ten years. Kylo is trying to work out if he should really buy the Extra Jumbo Box of cereal, or the ten tiny boxes, and if the weight of the packaging is included in the weight on the box and if the serving in the little boxes is how much he normally has and he doesn’t remember how often the big boxes change to properly calculate his daily intake and–

“Babe?”  


“Yes?” Kylo answers, and his mental arithmetic resets. He curses.  


“…where are you?”  


“…I went for cereal.”  


“…where?”  


“…uhm.”  


“KRIFF. I forgot to order in, didn’t I? Oh, Ky, I’m sorry. Did you go to your Mom’s?”  


“No! Poe, I’m not that useless!”  


“Where are you?”  


“Aisle… twenty-two.”  


“…you… went to the shop.”  


“I was hungry.”  


“…don’t touch anything, I’ll be there in a minute.”  


Kylo does not like the insinuation. He is perfectly capable of doing normal, adulty things. Like work out if he wants the biggest box for economy reasons, or the medium box so he gets the next toy faster.

***

By the time Poe finds him, Kylo has given up all sense of reality. He’s talking to the nice lady at the bread-thing-place (bakery?) about the different kinds of grain and the various jams and things and he wants to die. No, really.

Who can be this interested in toast? Or the mushed up remains of tree-genitals? WHO? This lady is who.

He throws the ‘please save me from crazy wheat and wheat by-products lady’ face at his beloved, who has come to rescue him.

“Kylo… did you eat _anything_  before you came out?”  


“No… why?”  


Poe waves at the very heaped cart. “You’re shopping for five, plus you’ll be not thinking straight because of your blood sugar.”

“…can I go home now?”  


Poe smiles indulgently. “Okay. Let’s check out what we need, and I’ll take you out for brunch.”

Kylo has never been more relieved in his life.

“No toast.”  


“No toast.”  



End file.
